Spring filled the Imperial Kitchen with the soft sweetness of bamboo shoots and the faint intoxication of drifting peach blossoms.
On the surface, everything looked peaceful. Even flourishing.
Qing Tian's days had finally begun to settle into something that almost felt… stable.
Under Chef Zhang's careful guidance, her knife work grew sharper, her control of heat more precise, her understanding of ingredients deeper with every passing day. The Record of Ingredients was now worn thin from constant reading, its pages dog-eared and smudged. Combined with her strange ability to sense the "emotions" of food, her cooking was beginning to cross into something truly rare.
The quiet mutual-aid network still survived in the shadows.
Madam Chen's remedies, Qing Tian's food, and everyone's quiet cooperation had helped more than one person through illness and desperation. That tiny hidden "oasis" continued to exist—fragile, stubborn, and alive—inside the cold desert of the palace.
And then there was him.
The invisible connection between Qing Tian and the Emperor, built entirely through food, continued to grow.
She didn't know Tang Yi had already found her.
She only followed instinct, pouring care and intention into every night meal that passed through her hands. Spring brought shepherd's purse wontons that soothed the liver and eased fatigue. Almond tofu that cleared heat and moistened the lungs. Everything she touched was prepared with quiet precision—clean, gentle, impossible to fault.
No one could accuse her of anything.
But Matron Liu's gaze was changing.
It was no longer just strict. It was sharp. Measuring. With a thin undercurrent of envy.
She began to make Qing Tian's life harder.
"C17, look at these radish strips! Uneven. Cut them again."
"C17, the water jars are empty. Why are you still standing here?"
"I hear you've been boiling sweet soups for Xiangfu again. Do you think the Imperial Kitchen is yours to waste?"
The probing came too.
"The night meals for His Majesty have become… interesting lately. You're always near Chef Zhang. Do you know who's behind them?"
"You're always working late by the small stove. What exactly are you experimenting with?"
Qing Tian answered each time with perfect humility.
"I only follow instructions."
"I'm practicing what my master taught me."
But inside, warning bells rang.
In the palace, kindness without backing was dangerous. Being different was even worse.
And worse danger was coming—from outside the kitchen.
One afternoon, Chef Zhang was summoned to the front hall. A steward from the household of Minister Liu had arrived.
Qing Tian, washing fresh bamboo shoots nearby, caught fragments of their conversation.
"…Chef Zhang, you are far too modest. Everyone knows your skill is unmatched. Our lord truly admires you. He invites you sincerely to become the head chef of his private residence. The pay, the comfort—nothing in the palace could compare. And as for your nephew in the army…" the man chuckled. "Our lord could offer certain… conveniences."
It wasn't an offer.
It was bait laced with threat.
Chef Zhang's voice was calm, but unyielding.
"I thank Minister Liu for his generosity. But I serve His Majesty by imperial grace. I will not leave the palace without a decree. I dare not accept."
The steward's tone cooled.
"So you plan to grow old here? Very well. But the palace is a complicated place. I hope Chef Zhang… stays safe."
The words landed like a blade.
Qing Tian's heart sank.
To offend the Liu family—favored kin of the Imperial Consort—was to invite disaster.
And it came quickly.
The procurement deputy, Wang Youcai, began raising complaints.
"The glutinous rice is worse quality now. The Jinhua hams have worm marks. Can we really give these to the Chef Zhang?"
Each time, his eyes drifted toward Chef Zhang's inspection desk.
"Chef Zhang is always so careful… but perhaps age has dulled his sight?"
Then whispers spread that Chef Zhang had been seen alone in the storage room at night.
Quiet rumors. Poisonous ones.
Qing Tian warned her master.
He only sighed. "I know who's behind this. Just protect yourself."
But the net was tightening.
Wang Youcai was now often seen whispering with Matron Liu. With the warehouse guards. With anyone who might be useful.
Under the warmth of spring sunlight, a storm was forming.
And Qing Tian could feel it coming